


Not Afraid of the Dark

by jupiterslifelessmoons



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Lots of it, Panic Attacks, also he does a lot of reflecting on his relationships, fear of storms, loki is afraid of storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:26:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiterslifelessmoons/pseuds/jupiterslifelessmoons
Summary: What’s the matter? Afraid of a little lightning?





	1. Chapter 1

Part One: Stormfront

Loki's eyes were shut against the storm, but he couldn't keep out the incessant pounding of the rain in his ears. Lightning struck and the light flashed dully against his eyelids. Then--he threw the blanket over his head and covered his ears--the thunder.

Like a mad wolf.

Like a dragon in pain.

Like the world falling down around him.

Fear clawed at Loki's stomach, a vicious and unfeeling beast. His hand shook against the sheets.

When he could stand it no longer, he picked up his favorite blanket and ran out of his room and down the hall as though the Frost Giants were after him. The blanket flew after him like a lonely ghost.

Loki came to an ornately carved wooden door and knocked. "Thor? Are you awake?"

No answer. He waited a moment longer, then pushed the door in as another growl of thunder shook the ground.

Thor was asleep, blissfully unaware of Loki's fears, a slight smile tilting the corners of his lips. Loki pattered cautiously in and shook his shoulder timidly.

"Thor? I can't sleep."

Thor shoved him off vaguely but not ungently.

"Go 'way, Loki. Trying to sleep."

Loki whimpered. He'd have to go back, back to his room and the dark and the awful thunder. He closed his eyes, almost wishing tears to come. The blanket trailed back behind him, looking even more pathetic than before. Loki climbed into bed and wrapped it tightly around himself, shivering despite the warm summer night. He'd have to wait it out. Another sleepless night for him.

* * *

 

Frigga woke suddenly. The rain pattering against the window must've started during the night; there had been no storm that evening. She lay back against the pillows, enjoying the tuneless lullaby of the rain's heartbeat. It must've been the thunder that had woken her; it seemed to be a particularly bad storm. That was all right. they could do with some water. It had been quite dry recently.

Lightning sliced the sky apart and Frigga sat up, agitated. The boys--in this storm--they must be terrified--

She slipped out from under the sheets carefully, trying not to wake Odin. She paused just a moment to ensure he was snoring peacefully. She didn't even stop to put on a dressing gown before flying down the hall to Thor's room.

The little angel was breathing steadily, sandy blond hair splayed across the pillow. As she watched, he snuggled deeper into his sheets and mumbled in contentment.

Frigga smiled, and proceeded more calmly to Loki's room. The boys were 7 and 6 now, old enough to sleep right through. She didn't know why she'd been so worried. Perhaps because it was the first thunderstorm of the season, and the boys had gone nearly a year without one...

Frigga pushed open the door to Loki's room and heard an audible gasp.

"M-mother? Is that you?"

He sat huddled in a heap of blankets, shaking visibly, biting his lip in agitation. He was an absolute picture of pity.

Frigga couldn't help but run to him and gather him in her arms.

"Yes, precious, of course it is."

"I-I just wanted to be sure."

She felt him shudder, felt him make the effort to stop shivering and calm himself.

"Honey..." She took his face gently into her hands so she could see his eyes and smoothed back his sweaty black hair. "What's wrong?"

Loki took one shaky breath, then another. A third. Frigga waited patiently, stroking his hair, her face a mask of calm. Inwardly, her thoughts swirled like the wind outside. What could possibly have happened to make him so scared? Loki was a calm child, mature for his age, and usually was not prone to outbursts of any sort. What had gotten into him?

"Mother...Mama...the storm." He clung to her, fingers curled tightly.

"Yes, Loki. The storm."

"I-I..." He hiccuped. His eyes closed wearily. "Do you feel sick?" Frigga asked gently.

"Yes, mother. Like-like-" he hugged himself, too overwhelmed to continue.

"Like something heavy-is on top of me-right here." He placed her hand over his stomach and chest. "And it won't come off."

Frigga didn't bother to check his temperature. This was clearly an anxiety problem, not one to be truly solved by medication. His heartbeat came sudden and quick through his nightshirt, but it was slowing gradually.

Loki shuddered and wrapped his arms around her again. Tears spilled down his face, dampening Frigga's nightgown. He was quiet now, calming. Outside, the storm was doing the same.

After crying for a good 10 minutes, he looked up at her again.

"Mother...do you remember when I used to sleep in your room?"

"Yes, precious. I do." It had only been about a month ago that Loki had regularly curled up on the floor of their room or in their bed ten minutes after lights out like clockwork. She had wondered why he'd stopped so abruptly. Perhaps she was about to find out.

"A little while ago I came into your room and started to go to sleep, but father saw me." Frigga nodded. Odin wasn't too keen on allowing Loki to sleep in their room. He insisted upon independence being best for the boy. She had convinced him to be a bit softer on Loki, though, because of his past. He had reluctantly agreed.

"Father saw me and he said..." Loki closed his eyes, remembering. "He said, 'Loki, you can stay here tonight...but remember...' " He swallowed. " 'Remember that one day you won't have any of us...me or your mother or Thor...and you have to know how to cope with that.' " He looked at Frigga, huge green eyes stretched wide. "I didn't know we had to--to die, mother. I thought that was only animals and mortals--" Loki clutched suddenly at Frigga as though she might disappear at any moment. She thought he was finished speaking, but then a muffled voice around her midriff whispered, "Whenever I hear the thunder...I feel like it's going to take you away from me. All of you."


	2. Raindrops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please understand that when I say “leave me alone”, I mean that I’d rather you do anything but…

The shadow of a footstep sounded behind Loki. He whirled around, but no one was there. Again he heard pattering feet and turned, but still there was nothing.

Suddenly the book was tugged from his hands and Sif practically materialized from behind a pillar, giggling wildly.

“SIF…give it back…”

She shook her head and tossed the paperback lightly from hand to hand, a teasing light in her eye. She looked uncharacteristically formal in an emerald green evening gown that fluttered when she made the slightest move. If he looked further into the banquet hall, Loki could see that nearly all of Asgard was dressed formally as well. They were celebrating a recent victory over a rogue pack of Berserkers.

And Loki, as usual, was off in a corner, mostly forgotten. Mostly.

“C'mon, Sif, I need that!”

“Need it for what?” she asked. “An excuse not to join us? We’re playing poker again. You did invent the game, after all.” Sif offered a hand and he took it, pulling himself up.

“I didn’t invent it, I read about it and then I did some research on Midgard-”

“Oh, who cares. All we know is, you’re the master here, so you’d better play!”

Grabbing his hand, Sif proceeded to haul Loki off to the side table where she, Thor, and the Warriors Three were playing poker.

“Aw, Sif, come on, gimme the book…”

“Nope. I’ll burn it if I have to, but you ARE going to play at least one game with us.”

Loki’s eyes went wide. “No! No burning the books! That’s- that’s-” He stuttered for a few moments in wordless fury over his precious book before he realized Sif was kidding. She laughed, and he hissed.

“That’s not funny! Books are my friends.”

Sif tittered, amused. “Ah yes, just forget the perfectly good live ones right here who aren’t made of dusty paper.”

They had reached the table. Volstagg looked up long enough from his epic retelling of “The Defeat of the Mighty Dragon by Volstagg the Valiant” to nearly knock Loki over with a pat on the back. Hogun nodded silently. Thor grinned and pulled him into a chair.

“Brother! We were just about to die of boredom from Volstagg’s- er-” he glanced across the table- “wonderful tale, when you showed up. Mind dealing the first hand?” Loki raised his eyebrows but took the deck and began shuffling.

“I suppose my poor book is going to be held captive until I finish this?” he asked casually.

“Yup!” Sif told him cheerfully. She stroked the cover. “Don’t worry, it’s in good hands.”

“I highly doubt that,” Loki teased as he began dealing. He could very easily trick Sif into giving him the book by way of illusions, but a tiny part of him actually enjoyed the party. Okay, well maybe not a tiny part. Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three were his family, his friends. He had no better way to show them what they meant to him than by staying- any act of affection more forthright would ruin his poker face.

Loki ended up staying not for one game but for three, and as the betting continued they played for everything from crackers to the new litter of guard dogs to ornamental daggers. He settled comfortably into the game, eventually losing all hope that Sif would willingly give up his book before midnight at the earliest.

“Ten chips and a bottle of aged red wine! Who’s staying in?” Fandral asked. Loki threw his chip in, then jumped as the palace suddenly lit up.

“What was that?” he asked nervously, glancing to the window and dropping his game face.

“It’s just lightning, Loki,” Thor told him, frowning curiously. He tossed in a chip worth five, not looking at what he was doing. Loki sighed and corrected him, trying to regain composure. Public space. Storm. Don’t think about it, he told himself.

Sif bit her lip doubtfully. “Fold.” Reluctantly she placed her cards on the table.

The thunder came, far off but low and long. Loki clenched his teeth. Don’t scream. Don’t scream.

“Fold,” he muttered automatically. Fandral gave him a quizzical look. “It’s not even your turn, and you already bet.”

“Ah…so I did.” Loki glanced down at his cards. A pair of fives? What was I thinking?! I can’t bluff with that.

He looked up from his hand to discover that everyone was staring at him. “What?” he snapped.

“Are you alright?” Thor asked.

More lightning.

Thunder.

“Um…” By the Valkyries, why were they all looking at him like that? It was making it so hard to focus…

The moment stretched thinner.

“Nothing,” Loki managed. “Stomachache. I’m fine.” He wasn’t exactly lying. The fear was back, wrapped around his midsection as tightly as steel bands. He wasn’t breathing right.

All heads turned back to the game, and Loki set down his cards, prepared to slink off unnoticed.

“Loki…?” Thor asked.

Loki could feel their eyes burning holes in his back, but he didn’t turn around. If he could just be alone somewhere, he’d be okay. If he could just get away and be warm and safe and calm down…

Loki’s body morphed almost of its own accord, and his friends soon lost track of the green eyed, golden collared black cat streaking across the banquet hall. The cards were long forgotten. The five Asgardians glanced around the table nervously. Fandral pulled at his beard.

Thor was the first to speak. “I’ll go after him,” he announced. “Probably best if it’s just one of us.” The Warriors Three looked clearly relieved but Sif shifted in her seat edgily. Finally, she said, “Take this,” handing Thor the book and settling back down.

Thor nodded gratefully and dashed off to his brother’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and he didn’t bother to knock.

“Brother?”

No answer.

“Loki, I know you can hear me.”

Thor stepped further into the room. The tiny black cat was huddled in the corner furthest from the window on top of a pile of discarded clothes, beneath the map desk.

Loki didn’t open his eyes, not even when Thor picked him up and absently scratched behind his ears.

“You know I hate being petted.” Loki’s tone was casual and sarcastic, but Thor didn’t miss the slight tremor in it.

“Sorry. It’s kind of hard not to pet a cat.”

Loki peered out of one eye grumpily. “I’m not a cat.”

“Right, of course not.” Thor sat on the floor. Loki squeezed his eyes shut as another burst of thunder started. His claws scrabbled at Thor’s arms.

“Ow. Hey, cut it out.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Thor set Loki down. Loki blinked up at him. “Thor? I didn’t really win that last game. I created an illusion of a royal flush. You can have your hunting gloves back.”

Thor sighed. Loki was forever cheating at everything.

“I’m guessing you didn’t leave because you had a stomachache.”

“Well…”

“Don’t split hairs.”

Lightning illuminated the room and for a second Thor could see Loki’s outline, fur spiked sharp against whatever imagined terrors he had. Amazed, Thor asked, “You’re afraid of storms?”

“What? No, of course not.”

Thunder seemed to shake the room. Loki yelped, jumping into Thor’s lap. “Fine, fine, okay I lied.”

“What a surprise,” Thor muttered.

Loki ignored Thor’s remark, apparently more focused on the storm than any slights to his pride. A weak moan escaped him as thunder crashed again. Thor wrapped his arms around his brother, abandoning all sarcasm.

“You’re really serious then.”

“Would I lie about this?” Loki asked miserably

“Well…”

“Seriously.” Loki managed a feeble laugh. Thor remained utterly straight-faced. One hand drifted up to scratch his brother’s ears. Loki didn’t protest. For a moment there was only the sound of water scrabbling against the roof and windows. To Loki, it was the sound of a thousand beasts clamoring to get at him. And his family. He buried his face in Thor’s robes.

“I did not think I would ever have to talk about this again.” His voice was a bit muffled, but whether by the cloth or by tears Thor couldn’t tell. Loki continued softly.

“The storm is…just a reminder. A reminder of a reality that I would not like to face.” His voice broke.

Thor waited a long time, holding his brother even when he eventually morphed back to human form, but Loki did not say any more that night.


	3. Downpour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You label me “evil” so easily…it begs the question…do you believe people are born evil, or do they have evil thrust upon them?

Loki finally allowed himself to relax, sinking back against the cold metal wall. Across the small space of the helicopter, the mortal who called himself Iron Man eyed him with contempt. Beside him, the other one- this Captain America person- was not looking at him at all, but gazing thoughtfully out the window.

Towering dark clouds surrounded the craft, eliminating nearly all light. Loki ignored the tightening in his stomach. Or, at least, he tried to. Thunderstorms, it seemed, were no different on Midgard.

He had developed a pattern over the years of lying to himself. He would tell his ears they could not hear the rain, or the thunder. Tell his eyes they couldn’t see the dark or the splattering raindrops. Or if–Valkyries forbid–he happened to be outside, he would tell his skin it couldn’t feel the water soaking through his clothes like it was trying to drown him in the air. He would replace it all with a picture of somewhere else; anywhere else.

Sometimes, miraculously, it worked.

Other times, though, Loki found it simpler to just lock himself in his room and curl up under the covers until it was over.

He became dimly aware of the mortals talking and tried to interest himself in their conversation. Anything for a distraction.

The two humans seemed slightly uneasy with each other. They were talking about some movie that Iron Man had seen, amicably enough on the surface, at least. Loki could sense a slight undercurrent of something, though. Not quite actual hostility. More like a deep, unsettling rivalry.

I can probably use that, he thought. The trouble was that he couldn’t have them teaming up against an outside enemy–him, for example. He had to make them comfortable enough to turn on each other.

“So he’s totally using that to avoid the prequel dilemma,” Captain America was saying.

“Well, yeah. But would you rather he just completely copied the original series?”

“J.J. Abrams could never create anything as good as the original series,” Captain America muttered.

Iron Man snorted. “Please. His movies are already way better than the original show.”

Captain America bristled. Amused, Loki continued to watch their argument. Yes, he could definitely use their animosity.

Analyzing their conversation and mentally twisting their relationship to his needs proved to be enough of a distraction to keep his mind off the gathering storm. But when Captain America and Iron Man eventually fell into prickly silence, all of Loki’s carefully built illusions crashed down around his ears. He studied his palms, tracing the lines over and over in his mind’s eye, trying not to be sick. At least he wasn’t carrying the scepter. It would probably make the storm even more unbearable.

Up in front, the red haired woman turned around briefly.

“Has he said anything yet?” she asked.

“Not a word,” muttered Iron Man. He glared at Loki as though this were a capital offense. Loki chewed his lip, trying to ignore the worsening storm symptoms. Lightning flashed, shattering his efforts. He glanced up, wondering if this mortal craft could withstand a storm.

Iron Man didn’t miss the gesture.

“What’s the matter?” he sneered. “Afraid of a little lightning?”

Loki took a deep breath, thinking bitterly that this human would never know how close he’d hit to home, but all he said was, “I’m not overly fond of what follows.”

So. Thor was coming for him. He’d known that, but was reluctant to believe it. He curled his lip in disgust–mostly at Thor, but somewhat at himself.

Whenever a thunderstorm came, inevitably his mental list came with it.

The list was of people that, he knew, would shatter his heart into a million pieces if they died.

He was disgusted at himself because, despite all he’d suffered because his brother, Thor was still on the list.

Inexplicably, Odin was still there too. Loki couldn’t understand why he still felt any attachment to them. Some part of him whispered hopefully that maybe if he killed them–ended the uncertainty, the inevitable need for vengeance–then maybe, maybe it wouldn’t be so painful. But that only made sense in Loki’s darkest moments, in the heat of battle rage.

Another part of him whispered that blood ties didn’t matter, and his adopted family would always be his real family.

He couldn’t deny this voice, because to deny it would be to deny Frigga.

As the helicopter shuddered and thunder roared, Loki tried to imagine his way back to Asgard. To home. The craft shook violently. He closed his eyes. Something slammed into him heavily.

Loki was dragged out into the heart of the storm. And as he went, he tried to imagine that it was Frigga’s arms, not Thor’s, that wrapped around him, keeping him from falling.


	4. Thunderstruck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you lose a lifelong fear, it’s usually replaced with something much, much worse.

Loki blinked.

Odd, he had the feeling that someone was watching him. He looked up from his book.

Glittering gold through the barrier of Loki’s cell was one of the palace messengers, standing stock still. His helmet was respectfully removed, his eyes were down.

Curious, Loki nodded at the man to speak. The man shifted his feet, clearly uncomfortable. A cold hand of fear clutched at Loki’s heart for absolutely no reason. He ignored it.

“Well, go on,” he prompted gently. The messenger finally forced himself to raise his eyes to the princes face.

“The–the king has ordered that I deliver this message.”

Loki nodded slowly. The man bit his lip uncomfortably.

“The message is–” he paused for a deep breath. “Your mother is dead.”

Your mother is dead.

Why–how–that can’t possibly be true–

Your mother is dead.

He didn’t even notice the messenger’s hasty departure.

Your mother is dead.

And the words seared into his head, his heart, his whole being, until he could hear nothing else.

Your mother is dead.

Loki’s fists clenched and he hardly noticed as the furniture was flung against the walls and the energy barrier. For a while all he could do was rage, destroy his cell, unconscious of physical pain. There was nothing but the fire–no, the frost–eating at his heart.

Loki collapsed against the wall, shuddering with tears.

And the raindrops, real or imagined, started.

Outside, the thunder growled. The downpour threatened, deep in its throat, to tear him apart. He couldn’t see the lightning, but he could feel it, flashing hideously against the dark, cracking open the sky.

It had lost some of its terror, though. The thunder had already taken his mother–now, all it could do was remind him of the pain.

Later on another messenger arrived and gave him some very small details. Frigga had been killed by Malekith. His “father” and adopted brother had arrived too late. She had died with honor.

This messenger, too, left quickly.

Loki was glad for that–and glad, too, that the cells were empty. No one saw him crying his eyes out until late into the night, when he finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

He slept fitfully.

Thunder crawled through his dreams and wormed through his rib cage. It finally personified itself in a voice. A voice he knew all too well. Loki instinctively shielded himself, wrapped his body in illusions like a blanket.

He heard the words he was saying but he wasn’t paying attention to them. He was too tired for anything but hostility and sarcasm.

“Have you come to gloat?” he asked.

There was something in Thor’s face that hadn’t been there before.

“Loki, ENOUGH,” he commanded.

A small stab of surprise shot through his numbness. So he could tell…

Loki lowered the illusion, revealed himself small and miserable.

“Now you see me, brother.”

And he was too tired and lonely and heartbroken to care much about what Thor thought, so he asked the first question on his mind.

“Did she suffer?”

“I am not here to share our grief.” Thor sounded almost apologetic, diplomatic even. He kept speaking, calmly, gently, and Loki listened attentively.

Vengeance. Thor was offering him revenge.

Fool. And yet–try as he might, Loki could not suppress a rush of ironic affection for him, for his once-family who actually carried Frigga’s blood in his veins.

He listened to Thor lay out the skeleton of a plan before him. Thor, who never thought anything through.

He smiled. “When do we start?”

Only afterwards did Loki realize that he had called Thor “brother”.

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this by the terrible, terrible book adaption of Thor The Dark World: purely a case of “if you want something done right, do it yourself”. I believe this is the first fic I ever wrote that was over a thousand words. It’s a few years old and I think my writing has greatly improved but I’m still proud of it.


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